


the only thing that's mine

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gardener Richie Tozier, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Sexual Tension, Smut, actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: His mouth goes dry when he looks outside. He hasn’t seen this gardener before, and he’ssureof it, because he’spositivehe’d fucking remember this guy. He’s divorced and in his thirties, but he’s also gay, and he’scertainlynot dead, and this guy would’ve stuck in his memory for sure if he’d seen him before.The guy’s still mowing the lawn, unaware that Eddie’s even there. He’s got at least half a foot of height on Eddie, with wide, broad shoulders and thick curling hair pulled back into a bun. He’s sweating, which isn’t surprising since Eddie’s been out for about two minutes in a tank top and shorts andhe’salready sweating. The gardener has a thin t-shirt on and shorts that end above his knees, and it’s all just soaked through.“Hey,” Eddie calls. The guy doesn’t look up right away, so Eddie shouts,“Hey!”and the guy finally turns.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 42
Kudos: 716





	the only thing that's mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlitrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlitrain/gifts).



> For [rehtea](https://rehtea.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> Title taken from ["Lipstick Covered Magnet"](https://open.spotify.com/track/3LTTu0uswRcZeURgj8K5gO?si=mj6FJNA1QOC3dNKFam0yAQ) by The Front Bottoms.

Eddie lives in an enclosed community, because Myra had chosen it and then she’d been the one to move out, so now he owns a nice little house all by himself in a tidy little neighborhood that he can be fairly certain is safe. There’s still the chance that one of the uptight husbands in the gated community will snap one day and kill them all, but Eddie’s willing to take that chance for a place he’s almost entirely paid off.

One of the benefits, he supposes, of living in a place like this is that his monthly fees go towards things like upkeep for the landscaping, which includes his lawn. They contract a gardening service, so Eddie doesn’t have to do it himself. He’ll still go outside and straighten things out when they’re gone, because he’s still himself, but it’s still nice to get most of the work done for him while he’s typically not even home.

This time, though, he  _ is  _ home when the gardener shows up. He’s only just gotten a promotion that means he gets to work from home two days of the week, so he’s still adjusting, and he gets distracted easily by the sounds in the neighborhood. A lawn mower going in his own front yard is more than distracting, it’s  _ impossible,  _ and so Eddie goes to the front window to see where he’ll have to touch up later.

His mouth goes dry when he looks outside. He hasn’t seen this gardener before, and he’s  _ sure  _ of it, because he’s  _ positive  _ he’d fucking remember this guy. He’s divorced and in his thirties, but he’s also gay, and he’s  _ certainly _ not dead, and this guy would’ve stuck in his memory for sure if he’d seen him before.

Eddie abandons his work, deciding his work day is at least on pause, if not unofficially over, as he strips out of his everyday clothes and into his outdoor clothes, since it’s the middle of July and the air outside is dense with heat and humidity. He grabs a bottle of water from his kitchen before he goes out on his front porch, leaning over the railing and just watching, for a second, arms dangling and fingers loosely wrapped around the bottle.

The guy’s still mowing the lawn, unaware that Eddie’s even there. He’s got at least half a foot of height on Eddie, with wide, broad shoulders and thick curling hair pulled back into a bun. He’s sweating, which isn’t surprising since Eddie’s been out for about two minutes in a tank top and shorts and  _ he’s  _ already sweating. The gardener has a thin t-shirt on and shorts that end above his knees, and it’s all just soaked through.

“Hey,” Eddie calls. The guy doesn’t look up right away, so Eddie shouts,  _ “Hey!”  _ and the guy finally turns. He waves, shutting off the lawn mower and leaving it in the middle of Eddie’s lawn. Eddie doesn’t even really care, because he’s transfixed by the guy’s arms moving under the short sleeves of his shirt; he has strong biceps and big hands and it’s all so fucking distracting that Eddie forgets what he’s actually doing until the guy’s right in front of him, looking up at Eddie from the other side of the porch railing.

“Hey,” the guy says. He pushes a hand through the stray hairs curling out of his bun, slicking them back with sweat as he looks back over Eddie’s lawn. “Looking alright so far?”

“Yeah, it looks— It’s great, good job,” Eddie tells him. He stares at him still as the gardener looks out over his lawn with a hand on one hip, surveying his work. When he looks back, Eddie’s caught staring; the guy doesn’t comment, though. Just gives him a funny look before smiling and glancing down at the water bottle in Eddie’s hands.

“That for me?” the gardener asks. Eddie looks down at it, too, because he’d entirely forgotten the prop reason for him to come outside at all, but he nods jerkily.

“Yeah, I thought you could use it, it’s hot out,” Eddie tells him. He stretches over the railing to hand the water bottle over. The gardener stretches up to take it carefully from his hand, their fingers brushing as he pulls it free.

“Thanks, man,” the gardener says.

“Eddie,” Eddie says, without a second thought. The guy looks up, unscrewing the bottle with one of his big hands as he does. “Kaspbrak. My… That’s my name.”

“That’s a nice name,” the guy tells him. “I’m Richie Tozier, I’m your gardener.”

“I figured,” Eddie says. He doesn’t think to filter himself, but, luckily, Richie just laughs.

“Nah, I’m just a freak who loves mowing lawns,” Richie jokes with him. “I sneak into gated communities just to mow their lawns in disguise. I get off on it.” With that, he takes a long sip of the water, and Eddie’s still smiling a little at Richie’s teasing as he watches the line of his throat while he swallows. He sees his Adam’s apple bob and has to look away, but only for a second before he’s glancing back at his arms as he drinks.

“Should I chase you away?” Eddie asks, because continuing the bit is easier than trying to fuck his gardener on his front lawn. “Or call the police, maybe?”

Richie pulls the bottle away from his mouth so he can grin at Eddie. “I think that’s kinkshaming, Mr. Kaspbrak.”

“Eddie’s fine,” Eddie tells him hurriedly. “I— No, it is  _ not  _ kinkshaming, you do  _ not—” _

“Easy, easy,” Richie cuts him off. He pulls the elastic out of his hair and shakes the curls loose before he tips his head back. Eddie barely has any time to prepare before Richie’s closing his eyes and pouring half the water left in the bottle over his face and through his hair. He slips his fingers through it, slicking it all back now. Eddie’s mouth runs fucking  _ dry,  _ even as he starts to flush warmer and sweat more.

“Wh— Do you want more water?” Eddie asks, slightly choked. Richie sets the bottle down on the ground and pulls the hem of his shirt off so he can wipe the water off his face with it. All he actually does is give Eddie a full view of his broad chest and his soft belly, all long lines and dark hair, glistening with sweat as he moves. Eddie stares until his shirt comes back down, and even then it takes him a second to drag his eyes back up.

When he looks up again, Richie’s already looking back at him, big blue eyes magnified behind his thick glasses. He pushes them back up his nose and laughs.

“I’m not gonna drink you out of house and home, Eds,” Richie tells him. The glasses slip back down his nose with the water and sweat slicking his face. He picks up the water bottle and swigs the last of it, making the last of Eddie’s brain cells light themselves on fire as all his blood shoots down to his half-hard dick to send him  _ much  _ closer to fully-hard. He feels like a fucking animal, but this man is activating something  _ deep  _ fucking inside him, and he wants Richie to  _ find _ that spot.

“It’s no trouble,” Eddie says. Richie gives him that funny look again. “I’m just— Sorry, I work from home some days. I didn’t know if that bothered you.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Richie assures him. He goes to shove the empty water bottle in his back pocket, but Eddie leans back down over the railing.

“I can take it,” Eddie says. Richie smiles up at him again, a drop of water rolling from his temple down to the knob of his jaw. His fucking jawline is so sharp that it slides down it before reaching his chin and dripping down into the grass, and a shiver runs up Eddie’s spine as he meets Richie’s eyes again.

“I bet you can,” Richie replies. Eddie’s hands go numb as he looks down at Richie, watching another couple drips of water roll down the side of his face. Richie passes the water bottle back up, their fingers brushing more deliberately as Richie puts one of his big hands over Eddie’s, pushing Eddie’s fingers to help him wrap them around the bottle. He pats the back of Eddie’s hand, then looks up, holding him just a beat too long.

“I work from home tomorrow, too,” Eddie says, after the long moment of quiet. Richie grins, his whole face lighting up once he realizes he hasn’t actually pushed too far and that Eddie’s pushing right back. It makes Eddie smile, too, as he pulls his hands back and folds his arms on the railing. He pushes his own hair back from his face; it’s much shorter than Richie’s, but it’s still humid outside so his hair’s curling into his eyes.

When he looks back down, Richie’s staring heatedly up at him, too. Just like he caught Eddie doing.

“Looks like I actually will have to break into a gated community tomorrow, then,” Richie says. Eddie huffs a laugh. “Nah, no, I’m just kidding, I’m assigned in this place the next couple days.”

“Good,” Eddie says. His voice is lower than he even intended it to be, and he’d already intended it to be fairly low. Richie’s blue irises disappear a little as his pupils dilate, and Eddie’s fully hard now, briefly lamenting the fact that his shorts are so fucking short and he’s got to be incredibly obvious. Not that he can look down to check without being incredibly obvious about it, since Richie’s eyes aren’t leaving his face.

Well, actually,  _ now  _ they’re leaving his face, as Eddie leans back slightly and Richie’s eyes track down to his chest. They flicker down briefly, looking at Eddie’s ankles through the slats of the railing wrapping around the porch; Eddie watches his eyes slide up until they stall near his thighs. He has to fight back another heated blush when Richie’s eyes land on his cock.

Richie exhales, his eyes darting up to Eddie’s. Eddie struggles to keep making eye contact with Richie and not to look down in return. After a beat, Richie smiles again, backing up a couple steps.

“Well, I’ll just get back to work, then,” Richie says. He takes his shirt by the hem and tugs it off over his head, slipping it free and tossing it aside so it falls draped over the railing next to Eddie. Eddie swallows, looking back out at Richie so quick he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. He’s still soaked in sweat and water, drenched in the heat of the summer, and Eddie points back over his shoulder.

“I’ll go— I’ll get you another water,” Eddie tells him. He tightens his grip on the empty water bottle in his hand, feeling the plastic crinkle under his fingers. Richie hears it, too, apparently, because his eyes dart down to it before shooting back to Eddie’s face, one eyebrow raised.

“You know, plastic’s killing the oceans,” Richie says. Eddie frowns at him, feeling the heat roll up his spine again. “You should—”

“Once the corporations and multibillionaires who are destroying the planet stop doing that, I will,” Eddie cuts him off. Richie laughs, an unexpected noise that just bursts out of him, and it makes Eddie grin, too.

“Destroying the Earth to prove a point,” Richie says. “I like you, Eds.”

“It’s Eddie,” Eddie tells him, even though his face flushes even darker for Richie giving him a fucking  _ nickname  _ like that, letting it roll off his tongue so  _ casually  _ like that. “I’ll just go— Get the water.”

“Thanks, Spaghetti,” Richie replies.

“Not my  _ name,”  _ Eddie reasserts. Richie blows him a kiss before turning back to the lawn mower and leaning over it to start it up again. The long muscles of his back and the blades of his shoulders pull as he stretches, tightening when he jerks the cord once, then twice. The mower roars to life under his hands.

Richie doesn’t turn back, just gets back to work. Eddie’s left with the visual of Richie, shirtless, whistling to himself as he mows Eddie’s lawn drenched in sweat. It takes a moment to steel himself, but he  _ does  _ end up looking down. He sucks in a quick breath through his teeth when he sees that Richie’s hard, too, and his cock looks fucking  _ huge,  _ drawing his shorts tighter around his thighs.

Eddie has to turn on his heel and sprint back into his house, slamming the front door behind himself and leaning up against it to catch his breath. He figures Richie can wait a minute for another water bottle; instead of grabbing him a second one, he tosses the empty bottle in his recycling bin and heads for his bathroom.

He strips out of his sweaty clothes, abandoning them in a folded pile in the hamper in the bathroom before he turns the shower on. He twists the dial just a bit, enough for water to come shooting out but not enough for it to actually start getting warm, and he just jumps in, hissing when the cold water slaps into his skin.

His hard cock is still almost painfully stiff against his belly, and he turns his back to the water, wrapping his hand around it and groaning as he finally gets friction on his heated skin. The cold water does a subpar job of cooling him down as he plants one hand against the shower wall and jerks off with the other. He slams his eyes shut the closer he gets to his climax and thinks of Richie outside, how he’s  _ still  _ fucking out there, mowing the lawn with his shirt off, taunting Eddie — who he’s only  _ just fucking met —  _ and tempting him into possibly fucking  _ doing  _ something about it tomorrow.

The thought of  _ tomorrow  _ pushes Eddie over the edge, and he inhales sharply as he cums, his orgasm sweeping swiftly through his limbs with a scalding heat as the icy water continues sluicing over his shoulders, chest, and back.

He leans his forehead into the shower wall, too, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He’s  _ fucked  _ tomorrow.

* * *

Richie’s not entirely sure what the play is going to be, when he returns to Eddie Kaspbrak’s house the next day, but he knows exactly what he wants to accomplish. He’s got his bucket under one arm, filled with his pruning shears, gloves, and a spade, and his hedge clippers in his other hand; he dumps them all on the sidewalk outside the Kaspbrak house before looking over the bushes in the front of the place.

He’s not about to go up and knock at the door, so he resolves to actually try and get as much work done as he can before Eddie comes out, because he’s actually got an assigned task here that he’s supposed to complete, but he also knows he’ll drop everything he’s doing as soon as Eddie comes outside and starts coming on to him again, so he’s just gonna try and fly through it.

He’s gotten all of the weeding done and most of the hedge trimming finished when Eddie comes outside. He’s still in work clothes, obviously, a business-casual dress shirt with the top three buttons undone tucked into a tight pair of slacks, and he leans out over the railing of his porch again to look down at Richie.

Eddie in shorts was a sight to fucking behold, the day before, but Eddie in his business clothes with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar loose around his throat is making Richie go a special kind of bananas. His curly hair is falling into his face with the humidity, and he keeps absently pushing it back out of his eyes. Richie’s eyes slip down, as Eddie leans over him; he’d looked like he was packing heat yesterday in his shorts, and Richie’s pleased to see he seems just as well-endowed in his work pants.

“I thought you were working from home today?” Richie asks. Eddie leans down over the railing and passes Richie another water bottle, which he takes gratefully. It  _ is  _ fucking hot out.

“If I don’t get dressed for work, the work day doesn’t feel like a real day,” Eddie tells him, as Richie twists the cap off and takes a long swig from the bottle. It’s refreshingly cool still, and he can’t help but sigh. “You should come in and cool off. If you’re overheating.”

Richie remembers how Eddie had looked yesterday when he’d dumped water over himself, and it’d honestly felt fantastic, so he tugs the elastic out of his hair before doing it again with the remaining water in his bottle. He looks up at Eddie after he’s done, feeling the cold water dripping onto his shoulders and absorbing into his tight t-shirt. Eddie swallows visibly, which just makes Richie grin wider.

“Unless you’re gonna drip all over my fucking floors,” Eddie says to him, which just makes Richie laugh. He thinks Eddie’s fucking  _ funny,  _ which honestly makes him even hotter than his fucking insanely tight, muscular body  _ alone,  _ and he abandons his water bottle and gardening equipment to lean up into the railing of the porch, too.

“If you don’t wanna make a mess in your place, I know somewhere we can go to cool off,” Richie tells him. Eddie’s brow furrows slightly, and he glances over his shoulder, but Richie impulsively reaches out and puts his hand over Eddie’s. “Whatever you’re into, I’m good with. I don’t want to make you uncomf—”

“Let’s go,” Eddie says. “I’ll just— Gimme a sec.”

He jogs back inside, leaving the door wide open behind himself. Richie takes a couple steps towards the stairs up to the porch, leaning to look into Eddie’s house, wondering if he can still see him and whatever he’s doing. He doesn’t see anything except a shockingly clean, slightly impersonal living room.

With a shrug to himself, Richie drinks the last of his water before shoving the empty bottle in his back pocket. Scooping his hair out of his face and back up into a bun, he makes quick work of the last bush in front of Eddie’s house before gathering up all his equipment again. After a beat of hesitation, he tugs his shirt off over his head again and stuffs it in the bucket he’s been keeping the weeds in.

“Alright, let’s go,” Eddie says, coming back out his front door with his keys in hand, locking the place up behind himself. He jogs down his front steps and comes to a stop in front of Richie, holding the keys up with one of the chain loops stuck around his finger as he looks up at him through his dark eyelashes.

Eddie’s changed into a  _ different  _ pair of criminally short shorts that Richie didn’t even know they  _ sold  _ for grown adult men, but this time they’re lilac-purple instead of bright red, and Richie almost can’t look away from his thighs long enough to concentrate. When he  _ does  _ finally drag his eyes away from the thick line of Eddie’s half-hard cock through the lavender shorts, it’s just to drift over his strong chest through his tight tank top.

Richie’s pretty sure Eddie would’ve been a great twink in his early twenties, but, as it is now, he’s in his late thirties and he’s got light-brown hair dusted across his chest, and his strong arms and thick thighs are so enticingly masculine that Richie’s not really lamenting the loss all that much. He’d take this Eddie any day.

“I know a nice little lake a short walk away, if you want,” Richie tells him, once he gets his brain back online. Eddie’s smirking up at him with spots of red flushed high on his cheeks. Richie thinks Eddie might be onto him. “I know it’s hot out, but—”

“I’m fine with a short walk,” Eddie tells him. He’s got his wallet, phone, and keys in his hands, but there’s no pockets on his shorts since there’s no fucking  _ room,  _ so Richie sets his bucket down and holds his hand out. “What?”

“Gimme your shit, I’ll put it in my pockets,” Richie says. Eddie looks up at him with his big, dark eyes before he hands his stuff over. As Richie’s putting it all in his front pockets, Eddie scoops up his bucket.

Richie starts to protest, but Eddie holds up a hand. “You’re carrying my stuff, I’ll carry yours. Plus, this way I know you won’t leave me abandoned in the woods, since I’ve got all  _ your  _ stuff.”

“I definitely won’t be leaving you alone anytime soon,” Richie says. Eddie flushes that pretty red-pink color again, spreading from his face down across his throat and his chest; Richie’s getting harder and harder in his own shorts by the second.

“Hoping you’ll put your money where your mouth is soon,” Eddie comments before turning and starting to head in the direction of the front gates.

Richie can only watch for a moment, staring at Eddie’s thick ass in his tight shorts before looking down at his strong legs as he comes to a stop and looks back. Richie’s head jerks up, caught out, but Eddie’s just grinning at him again, all sly. Richie’s palms are slicker with sweat than they should be.

“Are you coming?” Eddie calls to him. Richie jogs to catch up, clapping a hand on Eddie’s shoulder to steer him to the left towards the work truck he took all his equipment out of. His hand covers his thin sleeve and Eddie’s heated skin, and it sends a spark up Richie’s arm where they touch.

“Just toss this all in the back,” Richie says, hopping up into the bed of the truck and setting his hedge clippers down with the others. Eddie doesn’t throw the shit, but instead waits until he can pass the bucket up to Richie with undue care. It makes Richie’s chest pang.

When he jumps back down, he claps his hands together and says, “Alright, Spaghetti Man, follow me to the watering hole.”

“My name is fucking  _ Eddie,”  _ Eddie repeats, but he still slips his hand into Richie’s as they walk through the front gates and out to the main street, and it’s so fucking  _ cute  _ that Richie wants to explode. When he chances a glance at Eddie, his face is all red again and he’s staring determinedly ahead, which just makes it fucking cuter.

The lake really isn’t that far away, which— Richie would know, he lives  _ on  _ the lake, not that Eddie knows that. He escorts Eddie down the stairs carved into the hill down to the lake, keeping a hand on the small of his back to guide him so he doesn’t fall, his pulse thrumming the entire time he does it. Eddie hesitates on the step onto the dock, looking over his shoulder as Richie glides right past him.

“Are we allowed to be here?” Eddie asks. Richie undoes the button on his shorts before he pushes them down and off, kicking off his boots and toeing his socks off. He leaves it all in a heap before heading for the end of the dock.  _ “Richie—” _

“Chill, Eds,” Richie calls over his shoulder. He pulls his glasses off and folds them, crouching to set them on the edge of the dock. “It’s my dock.”

Eddie turns back around hastily, looking up at the little cabin at the top of the hill. They’d passed by it on their way down, but Eddie hadn’t asked so Richie hadn’t said, too focused instead on his hand touching Eddie’s hot back through his tank top. Eddie turns back, pointing up at the place. He’s just a fuzzy blur to Richie, this far away without his glasses on, but he can tell that much from his movements. “That’s yours?”

“Sure is,” Richie says. He pulls the elastic out of his hair again, snapping it onto his wrist. “C’mon, hop in. Water’s great.”

“You don’t—” Eddie starts to say, but then Richie turns and dives in, shaking his hair out underwater and relishing in the thrilling shock of the cool water against his overheated skin before he breaks the surface with a deep inhale.

Eddie’s leaning over the dock when he looks up. “Told you.”

“You had no idea,” Eddie scolds him. Richie holds out a hand, and Eddie glances down in the direction he’s pointing before passing over his glasses from the end of the dock. Once Richie’s got them on, he pushes away from the dock again, slicking his hair back from his head as he treads water.

“C’mon, Eds, the water actually is great and you look like you could use a cool-down,” Richie tells him. Eddie studies the water for another long moment with a critical eye before he stands up straight again. He still seems a bit skeptical, but Richie’s cajoling has apparently done the trick, because he grasps the hem of his tank top and tugs it up and off over his head. He leaves it in a small heap at his feet with his sneakers and socks, but he doesn’t take off his shorts before he’s leaning over the water again.

He’s even hotter like this, hotter than any other outfit he’s had on so far. His bare chest is impossibly muscular, his tan skin flushed with heat and glistening with sweat as he observes the water’s surface with a furrowed brow. Richie swims a little closer, but Eddie’s eyes just flick over to look at him.

“Do you know how much bacteria is in here?” Eddie asks him. Richie snorts a laugh.

“Then dive in and I’ll take you up to the house to shower afterwards,” Richie tells him. Eddie’s pink cheeks get redder all over again as his fingertips skim the water. He apparently decides this is now fine by him, because he starts to stretch to get into the water. Richie takes his chance to push himself up and out of the water, locking his arms around Eddie’s neck and yanking on him, sending them both toppling back into the water.

Eddie bursts through the surface, sputtering, and he shoves at Richie blindly with his eyes still closed and his wet hair falling into his face. Richie reaches out and pushes his hair back for him, so Eddie blinks at him, scowling.

“You are an  _ asshole,”  _ Eddie informs him. Richie catches Eddie’s shoulder, the two of them still treading water as Richie gently pulls a wet leaf out of Eddie’s hair.

“And  _ you,”  _ Richie says, “are  _ very  _ handsome all wet like this, did you know that?”

The official line-crossing of verbally acknowledging what they’re doing beyond flirting and innuendo makes Eddie’s dark eyes widen, but then he’s smiling slightly and saying, “No, I haven’t heard that before.”

“Then I’m happy to tell you,” Richie says. Eddie smiles up at him still, his chin tipped up as water laps at them in soft waves, pushing out from the center of the lake. “You look  _ very  _ handsome all wet like this.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Eddie tells him, voice low. He’s slick with lake water, now, his tan skin shining as the sun catches on the droplets and reflects off him. Richie’s blinded, briefly, by him. Eddie’s wet hair falls back into his face again, and Richie pushes it away. He keeps his hand there, threaded through the dripping strands, his palm pressed to Eddie’s flushed cheek.

Richie’s not sure what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he drops his head, and Eddie’s hand slides up across Richie’s bare chest. Richie shivers, the slick point of heat slipping across his hot flesh. He leans in to kiss him just as Eddie shrieks, jerking into Richie’s chest and nearly climbing up over his shoulder. Richie’s bewildered, with his arms abruptly full of Eddie, having to support him by the thighs so he doesn’t fall back into the water.

“Something touched by  _ fucking  _ ankle,” Eddie spits, looking nervously down into the lake. He looks over his shoulder again, then says, “Fuck it, I’m getting out.”

Richie laughs as Eddie climbs off of him, so Eddie just splashes him, sending a wave of water into his face. Richie coughs, shaking the water off his head and nearly sending his glasses flying. By the time he clears his vision, Eddie’s already halfway back to the dock, so he follows, hoisting himself up out after him.

Eddie barely hesitates, scooping up his clothes and beelining directly back to the stairs cut into the hill. Richie nearly trips following after him, catching up his own clothes and all their stuff as he sprints to follow Eddie up to his own house.

He has to dig his keys out of his shorts pocket to open the back door. He’s still just in his soaking-wet boxer briefs, now, but Eddie’s just in this drenched lavender shorts, still, clinging to his ass and his thighs as he shakes himself off before pushing past Richie into his house.

“Make yourself at home,” Richie tells him. Eddie sets his clothes aside and looks around the place. Richie feels sheepish, suddenly, because Eddie lives in a nice house in a gated community and Richie’s his fucking  _ gardener  _ who lives in a  _ cabin in the woods,  _ but Eddie turns back to him with a small smile.

“It’s a nice place,” he comments. He runs his fingertips over the back of Richie’s sofa, the muscles pulling in his strong forearm as he does so, and Richie’s mouth is dry as he watches it. “Nobody lives here with you?”

“No,” Richie tells him. He softly shuts the back door behind himself, locking it before stepping fully into his own home. “Nobody lives with you, either?”

“Divorced,” Eddie says. “Year or so ago.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Richie tells him, not sorry at all. Eddie’s eyes flash when he looks up at him.

“I’m not,” Eddie says, and Richie’s pulse jumps again. The air feels impossibly hot and thick in here, despite the fact that the windows are open and the fans are all spinning like they were when he left that morning. Even in spite of the cooling, though brief, swim in the lake— It’s still  _ stifling _ in here. Richie tosses his own stuff onto his sofa and backs Eddie up against it.

“What did you th—” Richie starts to ask, but he’s cut off by Eddie grabbing him by the back of the head, his palm cradling the back of Richie’s head as he yanks him down into a fierce kiss. His lips are hot under Richie’s, as is his tongue when he licks behind Richie’s teeth, and Richie just sinks into the wet heat of his hands and his mouth. He reaches up to grab onto Eddie’s hips, to his slick skin and soaked shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth. He pulls back, then looks over his shoulder. “You’ve got a—”

“Bedroom,” Richie finishes for him. Eddie nods jerkily, so Richie just points down the short hallway to their left. Eddie grabs him by the wrist and turns, hauling Richie after him; all Richie can do is follow, feeling horny and dumb and endeared and, somehow, more turned on than he’s ever been in his  _ life. _

Richie climbs up over his own bed, reaching into the drawer of his nightstand to pull lube and a condom out. Eddie’s dark eyes track the objects in his hands as Richie sets them aside on the bed.

Abruptly, Richie’s afraid that he’s misjudged everything and moved far too quickly. He nervously glances from the lube on the bed to Eddie’s flushed face and asks, “I— Is this what you—”

_ “Yes,”  _ Eddie interrupts him. He looks down at his own wet arms. “Do you have a towel or something? I don’t want to get your bed all wet.”

Richie looks up at him incredulously, absolutely _dripping_ water all _over_ his own bed, before he shakes his head like a dog, sending water flying everywhere. Eddie scoffs, but he takes the hint and climbs up onto the bed with Richie, damn the water and sweat slicking up their skin.

Eddie skims off his shorts, tossing them and his tiny pair of wet black underwear onto the wooden chair in the corner of the room. When he turns back to Richie, he’s completely naked, a smooth, tan expanse of hot damp skin, and it’s all for Richie to touch and, right now, Riche  _ alone.  _ It makes his brain short out, a little bit, as he tugs Eddie over him and kisses him hard.

Eddie shoves at him as they kiss, licking into his mouth and biting at his lips with such ferocity that it can hardly be counted as  _ kissing  _ and is even not really resembling even  _ making out,  _ anymore, as Eddie rolls his hips into Richie’s and moans loudly.

“Fucking shit,” Richie manages, in between bruising kisses from Eddie. Eddie lifts his hips so he can yank Richie’s wet boxer-briefs off, too, all but ripping them down Richie’s leg to toss onto the chair in the corner with his sodden things.

“Can I fuck myself on you?” Eddie asks, and Richie nods jerkily. Eddie grabs the lube up off the bed, snapping the cap open and spreading copious amounts across his own fingers before he reaches down to finger himself open. Richie watches, feeling like a fucking exhibitionist as his cock gets impossibly harder watching Eddie breach his own rim with two fingers at once.

Richie can’t keep his hands off completely, so he grips Eddie’s waist as Eddie scissors himself open, sitting upright properly so he can bite at Eddie’s throat. The amount of teeth Eddie introduced just kissing Richie has given him some inclination of what gets him going, so he drags the bite down to Eddie’s collarbone, relishing in the shiver that slides down Eddie’s spine when he does it. He gets a third finger inside himself easily before he’s starting to look back down at Richie’s cock in between them with intent.

When Eddie shifts, two things happen simultaneously. The first, and most pressing for Richie, is that their cocks drag together, and his head knocks backwards into the pillows and headboard behind him as all the air punches out of his lungs at once. The second, and this is just an assumption, is that Eddie finds his own prostate, because his free hand shoots out to grab the headboard past Richie’s head as he moans loudly, his own hand wrist-deep in his own ass as he fingers himself open.

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, I’m good,” Eddie manages to get out. He pulls back slightly to sit on Richie’s thighs, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth when his slick hands can’t get purchase on the foil. He rolls the condom over Richie’s cock in one smooth movement, making Richie’s hips jerk up into him. “I gotcha, hold on—”

Richie can’t help but moan again, as Eddie fills his palms with lube and slicks Richie’s cock for him, his soft hands sliding over Richie’s hard, heated skin through the thin material of the condom. Richie’s fairly close to begging Eddie to just get on with it when his hands vanish and his weight disappears.

It’s only for a moment, long enough for Richie’s head to lift and his eyes to snap fully open, but then Eddie’s gripping Richie’s left shoulder in one hand as he holds his dick tight in his fist with the other. Richie breathes hard through his nose as Eddie lines himself up and sinks down onto his cock.

Eddie’s jaw slips, falling slack as his lips part. He groans, loudly; once he gets halfway down, his other hand leaves Richie’s cock and flies up to clutch his other shoulder, clinging to Richie as he fully seats himself on his dick. Richie, for his part, holds Eddie’s hips and guides him, trying as hard as he possibly can not to let his hips twitch up and shove his cock fully into Eddie before he’s ready for him.

Once Eddie bottoms out, he just breathes, eyes shut. After a beat, he drops his head forwards until their foreheads press together. The tight velvet heat inside Eddie is unbearable, like this, so Richie can’t help the slight whimper that falls out of his mouth when Eddie shifts to adjust his position.

Richie’s legs are bracketing Eddie’s, like this, but Eddie repositions himself so he’s got leverage, keeping his legs inside Richie’s even as he firmly plants one foot behind him and one next to him. Richie pulls him in, wraps his legs around his waist; Eddie pushes down onto his cock again, grabbing the headboard behind Richie to keep his balance.

Like this, Richie can’t get much leverage himself, so he lets Eddie move first, lifting himself up before slowly sinking back down. The feeling is  _ insane,  _ better than anything Richie’s ever felt.

“Fuck, this feels so fucking good,” Richie says, half-muffled by the skin of Eddie’s throat where his face is buried. Eddie tips his head back, just slightly; Richie can get a better angle like that, and he bites into his neck.  _ “Move,  _ Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t correct him this time, instead just hanging onto the headboard with both of his strong hands while he rides Richie’s cock hard. He has just the right amount of leverage to fuck himself down, over and over, onto Richie’s dick, splotches of color splashes across his face and chest as he pants, his chest heaving as he works. Richie just clings to him, digging his fingertips into Eddie’s hips as he watches him in awe.

Eddie, apparently, finds his own prostate when he pushes down on one particular angle, so he tries to keep that angle, finding it again, then again as he fucks himself on Richie’s cock. Richie’s hands slip up his back, clutching him closer; Eddie’s hands let go of the headboard, then, weaving into Richie’s damp hair and pulling sharply as they fuck.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m close,” Richie tells him. They can’t thrust  _ too  _ deeply, like this, but it’s  _ intense  _ and fucking intimate as  _ hell,  _ and his orgasm is building slowly but surely in the base of his spine. Eddie moans, pulling one hand out of Richie’s hair to grip his jaw tightly and kiss him hard. Richie leans into it, letting Eddie bite his lip and lick into his mouth and moan fucking  _ loud  _ as he spears himself on Richie’s cock.

“I’m—  _ Fuck,  _ put your hand on me,” Eddie orders him, and Richie scrambles, one hand still wrapped around Eddie’s back as he squirms the other one in between them and folds his fingers around Eddie’s leaking cock. He’s hard, too, surely too hard to be comfortable, the head of his cock flushed nearly to purple as precum slides down the long, hot sides of it.

Richie spreads the precum down, using it and their sweat and the lingering water to smooth the slide of his hand over Eddie’s dick. He slides his hand back up, slow, once, before Eddie bites into his mouth again and he has no choice but to speed up, matching Eddie’s pace as he roughly fucks himself down onto Richie’s cock still, faster and harder with each passing moment. His rhythm starts to fall apart, then, and his nails scratch against Richie’s scalp as his grip tightens in his hair.

“Richie, fuck,” Eddie grits out. Richie can’t help but exhale hard, hearing his own name falling out of Eddie’s mouth like that, wanton and lustful and just fucking  _ hot,  _ and he holds tight to Eddie as he pushes up into him and cums  _ hard. _

Eddie moans at the feeling of it, clinging to Richie as Richie sloppily jerks him through his own orgasm. He’s coming all over Richie’s fist and both of their chests and bellies before Richie’s even through his own aftershocks, and it draws a whine out of him when Eddie clenches around him.

_ “Richie,”  _ Eddie manages to say before he’s sealing their mouths together again, kissing Richie harder than he’s ever been kissed before as Richie milks the last drops out of his cock and lets him go. Eddie drops his forehead down into Richie’s throat and sighs.

Richie just holds him there, stroking his hand lightly over Eddie’s back as he comes down from wherever he is. He slips back into his own body in pieces before he shifts, getting a good grip on the headboard and pulling himself up and off of Richie’s cock.

It dawns on Richie belatedly that they’re in his house, so it’s his responsibility to deal with the mess they’ve made. With all of his strength, he leaves Eddie behind to go to his bathroom and come back with damp washcloths for both of them to clean the cum clinging to their already-slick skin.

Eddie doesn’t get up off the bed, after Richie’s cleaned him off, even though the sun is still shining outside and Richie had sort of figured, at the beginning of all this, that Eddie was just looking to get fucked by his gardener and move on.

The longer they spend together, though, the more Richie gets the vibe that Eddie isn’t that sort of person. Which is good, actually, because neither is Richie, even if he’d been telling himself that was okay just so he could have a nice time with Eddie while he had it.

Instead of immediately either fucking off or politely asking Richie to fuck off, though, Eddie instead pulls his legs up onto Richie’s bedspread and asks, “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

Richie grins at him. He takes the washcloth out of his hand, tossing it onto the chair with their wet clothes. Eddie wrinkles his nose at the action, and it makes affectionate goosebumps break out across Richie’s skin.

“Spaghetti Man, I’m free for you  _ anytime,”  _ Richie tells him. Eddie swats at him, as Richie climbs back over him on the bed to kiss him again, but he’s smiling when their lips meet, so Richie counts it as a win anyways. “As long as it’s not pasta, because cannibalism,  _ yikes—” _

“Shut up,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth, slipping him his tongue and making a  _ very  _ persuasive argument for silence.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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